


Snowed in

by AngelinaZebi



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Cute, Friendship/Love, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Movie Night, Sorry Not Sorry, Sweet/Hot, Weather
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-08-28 01:03:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16713577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelinaZebi/pseuds/AngelinaZebi
Summary: What if the weather forecast became worse.





	Snowed in

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NicoTheFlammble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NicoTheFlammble/gifts).



> Enjoy it

Lance checks the weather for the tenth time, biting his nails nervously. The forecast just keeps getting worse. A huge snowstorm is headed his way, and his parents aren’t back from their surfing expedition yet. Yup, they decided to spend their weekend at the beach, again. Meanwhile he hasn’t moved from his bed for hours, powering through multiple seasons of F1. He can almost feel the cobwebs forming.   
  
  
He glances out the window. Thick tufts of snow are already falling outside, and it’s starting to get dark, too. His parents should be home by now. Just as he's about to check the weather again, his cell phone rings. It’s his parents. He picks up quickly.  
  
“Hi honey, have you seen the weather forecast?” Lance's mom asks.   
  
“Yeah, are you guys gonna be able to get home?”  
  
“Actually, we decided not to take any chances so we’re staying at the hotel one more night. Hope that’s okay…” says his mom anxiously.   
  
He shrugs. He’ll have to make his own dinner again, but he has no complaints about having the house to himself. “Sure, I’ll be fine.”  
  
“Don’t throw any ragers,” his dad jokes.  
  
“Oh wait, you’d need friends for that.” He facepalms. Typical. “Bye, dad,” he says, hanging up.   
  
It’s past seven, and he's craving mac & cheese. He goes downstairs and set a pot of water to boil. He's heading back upstairs to finish his episode when the doorbell rings.   
  
  
He freezes, automatically wondering if it’s a robber or a serial killer, or something like that. This is always his first thought. He's scared of everything, hence why he never answer the door when he's home alone. It’s just too risky!  
  
The doorbell rings again. And again. Must be a pretty determined murderer, especially since he’s standing out there in the snowstorm, which is raging at this point. He can barely see out the window, what with the snow coming down so thick. And the wind is howling like a banshee. Whoever this is, they must be desperate for braving this storm.   
  
He contemplates for a moment longer, but another, more insistent doorbell ring prompts him to face his fears. He unlocks the door and slowly open it.   
  
On the step is no serial killer, no robber, no psychopath. It’s his crush.   
  
He stands frozen for a moment, his mouth agaped. He stands frozen too, but probably because it’s literally freezing. Let him in, idiot.   
  
“Hey Este,” he says as casually as you can, screaming internally. “What…what are you doing here?”  
  
He avoids eye contact. He seems uncharacteristically awkward, but maybe that’s because he’s standing on the doorstep of a best friend from F1. “I…got kind of stuck in the snowstorm…” he says uncertainly, and he melt at the sound of his sexy French accent. “And my phone died, so…great timing, huh?” He chuckles and shivers.   
  
“Okay, come in, idiot. You’ll freeze to death out there.” He stands back and open the door to let him in. He steps in, and snow falls off his Pumas onto the rug. His ankles are bare. He’s wearing pants. And a shirt.

He blinks a couple times and look back up at him. “A t-shirt? Are you insane?”  
  
He still won’t look at Lance, rubbing his arms and looking at his feet. “Yeah, I was running a couple laps at the park. I had no idea there would be a big fucking storm. I started walking home but realized I didn’t want to die, so I went to the nearest house…didn’t know you lived here,” he adds, which he assumes really means “I’m not a stalker, I swear.”  
  
He nods in understanding, like this situation is totally normal and he's not at all freaking out internally. He notices his hair is white from snow, and he’s still shivering like crazy. “Well, I should get you a towel. You should, uh, sit over there…there’s a heating vent in the corner.”

He runs upstairs, mind reeling. As he gets him the fluffiest towel he can find, it starts to really sink in. His crush. Is here. At his house. The guy he's been obsessed with for the whole year. All he can really think is “holy fuck.”

He hurries back down and find Esteban huddled in the corner, pressed against the heating vent. His eyes are closed, and he’s hugging his knees to his chest. He looks adorable. 6'1", cool, and confident but reclusive, he intimidates the hell out of him. Being hot and French driver doesn’t help. But now, curled up and shivering, with his guard down, he looks small and helpless and…so cute. Lance relishes the sight, a little sadistically perhaps, before he goes up to him and hand him the towel.

He opens his eyes and takes the towel. “Thanks, Lance.” he says quietly. He dries off his hair and wipes melted snow off his face. Then he looks down at his shirt, and he notices it’s soaking wet. He glances up at him and quickly back down, before reaching back and yanking his shirt off.

He forgets how to breathe for a second. Mental update: His crush is still in his house. And now he is shirtless. He kind of just stare, taking in the six pack, the glistening skin, everything. He dries off with the towel as he watches breathlessly. Then he wraps it around himself, and he exhales.   
  
There’s an awkward silence, and then he asks, “Um, can I use your phone?”  
  
“What? Oh, right, of course.” He reach into his pocket for your phone and hand it to him. He dials a number, and whoever is on the other end picks up after the first ring. “Hi, Mom, it’s me,” he says, and Lance can tell his mom is gushing worriedly because he says “I’m fine” about fifteen times. “My phone died while I was running laps, and then the storm hit. I went to a friend’s house though.”

an’t be that bad-” he breaks off, looking out the window. The storm is raging on and a foot of snow has already built up. Incredible. It’s like Mother Nature conspired to force his crush into his house. At this point, a car wouldn’t make it out of the driveway, much less drive across town and back.   
  
Esteban seems to realize this, and he sighs. “Fine. I’ll stay over, and you’ll get me tomorrow, okay? Yeah. Bye. Okay Mom. Bye.” He hangs up, and looks at him reluctantly. “So…I guess I’m stuck here for the night. Sorry…”  
  
Lance tries not to look too happy. “It’s no big deal, really. I have the house to myself so there are plenty of empty rooms.”  
  
He cocks his head questioningly, and Lance explains, “My parents are at the shore for a little surfing trip…they’re supposed to be home now but they’re stuck too.”   
  
Esteban smiles a little smile again, and his heart flutters. “Oh, really? I surfed all the time back in France.”  
  
He chuckles. “Well, maybe you should give them some lessons, because they suck.”   
  
He laughs a little, but maybe it’s an uncomfortable laugh because you suggested that he meet Lance's parents which was a stupid thing to say to someone he barely know, even as a joke, and now he’s furrowing his eyebrows and he's scared he fucked everything up, and he says, “What’s that sound?”

Lance listens. It’s the pot boiling over. “Shit, forgot the mac & cheese!” he mutters, rushing over to the kitchen. The water is obviously ready, so he dumps in the macaroni and set a timer.   
  
Esteban is standing awkwardly in the living room, so he goes back to him. “Well, if you’re gonna be staying a while, I might as well get you some dry clothes,” he says, glancing surreptitiously at the towel wrapped around him and the abs peeking out from under it. Reluctant as he is to cover them up with a shirt, he’s Lance's guest now, and you need to control his pervy thoughts anyway!  
  
He runs back upstairs and search frantically through his closet for something a six foot guy could wear. He yanks out one of his baggy t-shirts and his biggest, comfiest sweatpants. He turns around and almost have a heart attack. He’s standing right there in the doorway.

"Oh hey, didn’t hear you come up,” he says as casually as he can. Sneaky bastard - how was he so quiet? He holds out the clothes. “This was all I could find, let me know if it fits…” He trails off. He’s not paying attention. Instead, he’s looking around his room, taking it all in and probably judging everything like the judgy, intimidating ass he is. God dammit, he cares so much about his opinion. Why don’t you ever clean his room?  
  
He looks over at your bed, and of course, his mind immediately goes wild. Esteban. His bed. What a combination. In reality, he’s probably just shocked at how messy it is. He has got to start making his bed. But his dog likes nestling himself in the folds of the covers. In fact, he’s curled up there now. 

Esteban sits down on his bed, and his heart starts Irish dancing. Then he stretches a hand out cautiously towards his dog,and he remembers he has a dog too. He has talked about it plenty in class, since it’s practically the one thing he has in common. He remembers joking that his dogs should meet, and of course regretting the comment forever afterwards.   
  
Now, he slowly rests his fingertips on the dog’s forehead and pets him gently. The dog wakes with a start, and he hopes he won’t run away, since he’s never been great at meeting new people. But he sniffs Esteban’s hand for a moment and then rests his head again, seemingly satisfied. Esteban smiles slightly and scratches his dog's ears, and the latter emits a low rumbling purr.

He claps a little. “I’m impressed. He’s not usually this quick to make new friends.”  
  
Esteban turns and grins at Lance. “What can I say, everyone loves me.”  
  
He rolls his eyes, trying to be cool despite the fact that he’s sitting on his bed and petting his dog and smiling at him and the towel has slipped off his shoulder onto the floor. Meanwhile, he turns his attention back to the dog.  
  
Suddenly he feels like a third wheel. “Okay, um, here are some dry clothes. You can change here if you want, and I’ll go down and finish making my mac & cheese.”  
  
“Change here? In front of him?” He gestures to the dog in fake shock. 

Oh, that cat has seen it all, don’t worry,” Lance responds, regretting it immediately.   
  
Esteban raises his eyebrows. “Has he now?” He asks teasingly.   
  
“Just change, please,” he shoots back, his cheeks hot. 

Downstairs, the macaroni is sticking to the bottom of the pot. “Fuck.” Idiot. He scrapes it up and stir it a little. The timer goes off a second later, so he shrugs and pour the pot into a colander, letting the water drain. He prepares the cheese sauce just the way he likes it, and pour the pasta into two bowls as Esteban comes down the stairs.   
  
“Is that for me?” he says, pointing to the extra bowl.   
  
“Nope, they’re both for me,” he says sarcastically. He offers him a bowl. “Hungry?”  
  
His eyes light up. “God yes, I’m starving.” He sits down across from him and reaches for the cheese sauce, but he grabs it before he gets there. “Me first.”  
  
Where are your manners? I’m your guest!” he teases.   
  
“I cooked this delicious meal for you, so I get first say on the cheese. Besides, you’re not my guest, you forced your way in uninvited.”  
  
Esteban looks as though he’s not sure how to respond. “Oh. Sorry, you’re right.”  
  
“Kidding. I don’t mind. Here, I’m done with the cheese sauce.” He pushes it towards him, hoping he didn’t make him feel uncomfortable.   
  
He meets Lance's eyes, and he looks serious. “No, really, I’m sorry. You didn’t have to let me in, and you didn’t have to let me sleep over.”  
  
Lance just look at him. “Yeah, right; what else was I supposed to do, throw you back out into the storm?”  
  
He shrugs. “I don’t know, but I do know I owe you big time. Thank you.”  
  
Okay, now he feels awkward. “It’s no problem. Seriously. Eat your food before it gets cold.”  
  
He looks at him for a few seconds, then chuckles. “Okay, Mom.”  
  
He has just taken his first delicious bite when suddenly everything goes dark.   
  
“Shit!” he groans. “Seriously?” The power’s gone out. Lance can just barely see Esteban across the table, and he looks faintly surprised but otherwise no different from his usual blank self.   
  
“Okay, it’s okay, cause we have candles! Somewhere!” He jumps up and runs around the kitchen, searching through drawers until he finds a couple of tiny candles. They’ll have to do. He brings them to the table with a box of matches, but when he tries to light one it won’t work. Maybe because he just sucks at lighting matches. Or maybe because his fingers are trembling a little.   
  
Esteban watches his failed attempts for a moment, hiding a smile. He really hopes he can’t tell how nervous he. Then he reaches over and takes the matchbox from him gently. “Here, let me.” Inevitably, his hands touch, and he has to remind himself not to faint.   
  
He lights a match with one easy strike and lights the candles. They emit a small halo of orange light. “Well, now we can see…slightly more,” Esteban remarks, perhaps trying to be positive. That’s not one of his strong suits.   
  
Lance shrugs apologetically. “Sorry, that’s all I could find.” He resumes eating his food, cause he doesn’t want that shit to get cold. He tries not to think about how romantic the current setting is. A candlelit dinner with his crush. This only happens in his wildest dreams. He still can’t believe he's really awake. He tries to pinch himself subtly. Yup, definitely awake. He smiles to himself and shove in another spoonful of mac & cheese.  
  
A few bites in Esteban seems to realize something, and groans. “Of course, I didn’t think to charge my phone before the power went out. Great.”  
  
He's not sure what to say to that. “Don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll come back on in a few minutes.”  
  
But it doesn’t. The two of them finish Lance's food and sit there for a minute in awkward silence, as if waiting for the power will bring it back. He notices he’s shivering again. Of course, the heat doesn’t work anymore. No more warm heating vents.   
  
“Okay, let me get some blankets,” he suggests. “It’s getting cold.”  
  
He shrugs. “I’m fine.”  
  
“No, you still look like you’re on the brink of death, and I can hear your teeth chattering. Come and get a blanket, dumbass.”  
  
He follows Lance upstairs and back into his room. He pulls a couple blankets off the end of his bed and give one to him. He’s busy petting the dog again. His laptop is on his bed, so you sit down and open it up. Thank God, there’s plenty of battery left. F1 is still open.   
  
Esteban looks over. “What’s that?”  
  
  
He tries his best to explain the general premise, which is especially hard since he's third seasons in. He gives up, and admit, “I just watch it for the top model. And Kylie Jenner.”  
  
Esteban raises his eyebrows. “Sounds good. Can I watch?”  
  
“You want me to start all the way from the beginning?” he says, feigning annoyance.   
  
“Nah, just start from where you are. If we’re just watching it for the hot girls, then plot doesn’t matter, right?” He grins teasingly.  
  
He laughes. “Right. So don’t ask me questions if you’re confused.” He hits play, and scoot backwards on his bed until his back is resting against the wall. Esteban joins him, wrapping his blanket around himself, which looks silly and, of course, adorable. He leans in to watch, and you’re extremely aware of how close he is.  
  
After the usual opening teaser, the theme song comes on. Esteban watches him jam the fuck out, looking mildly amused. As the episode continues, you point out Stiles every time he comes onscreen.  
  
“There he is. That’s a girl. She’s kind of my wife.” He explains this to him matter-of-factly.  
  
“Right. And you’ve met him how many times?” He tilts his head mockingly.  
  
He sighs. “Zero, but it doesn’t matter. We have a connection.”  
  
“I find that hard to-”  
  
“Shut up, you’re missing important dialogue.”  
  
“I thought plot was irrelevant? I’m just waiting for the shirts to come off, and so far, I’m disappointed.” Just as he says that, the scene changes. A shirtless Kimi is making out passionately with his wife.  
  
“Happy?” He teases, poking Esteban.  
  
  
He smile to himself. He’s probably right, since Kimi Raikkonen as himself is one fine piece of meat, and as far as you know, Esteban is gay. But he couldn’t care less about Kimi right now. Esteban fucking Ocon is sitting next to him on his bed, watching a sex scene with him.  
  
The camera catches Liam’s spectacular chest. “You know, as hot as they are, these characters are just utterly unrealistic. High schoolers are not this ripped.” A bicep flexes onscreen, proving his point.  
  
Esteban raises an eyebrow. “Oh aren’t they?” He turns to him, a sly smile on his face. His heart starts beating way too fast. “I mean, look at me, I look just like that girl.” He points to Kimi, who is pulling off his wife’s bra.  
  
Lance laughes nervously. “Okay Esteban, whatever helps you sleep at night.” Does he know how much he’s messing with his emotions? His face is getting warm.  
  
“Are you denying it?” he says, acting offended. He thrusts an arm out from the blanket and flexes it. “Just check out this bicep, and tell me that runt has more muscle than me.”  
  
Well, it has certainly been a deliciously strange night, but this is something else. His crush is on his bed, flexing his muscles for hi.? It just gets better and better.  
  
In a sudden moment of daring, he reaches out and touch his upper arm. “Hmm, not bad, but it’s just not quite as impressive as Liam’s incredibly buff arms.” He can’t believe he's saying this, and he definitely can’t believe Esteban is letting him feel his biceps. He’s not pulling away, and you look up and he’s smiling slightly, a devious look in his eyes.  
  
Fine, then. What do you say to these?” For the second time in an hour he pulls his shirt over his head, letting his glorious abs bathe in the light of the computer screen.  
  
Lance officially forget how to breathe. His face must be bright red by now, and he hopes he can’t tell in the dim lighting. “I-um…” Breathe, bitch, breathe. He has seen these before. Earlier today, and also in the stalker picture his friend snagged during a swim meet. But here they are, just inches away from him. He swallows audibly and just stare, your mouth slightly open, like a goddamn fish. Esteban laughs lightly, watching Lance's reaction.  
  
On his computer, the juicy bit has just ended, and dialogue is starting up again. Without looking away, he hits the spacebar to shut it up. He has a real-life top model to worry about. His ex girlfriend is just being distracting at this point.  
  
He slowly stretches his fingers out and brush them against his chest. Rock hard abs, but his skin is smooth and soft. Only an angel could be both at once, so flawlessly and effortlessly. He must be in heaven. He touches his six pack and trace the grooves in between, refusing to blink for fear that he'll miss even a millisecond of this, or that he’ll open his eyes to find it was all just a dream.   
  
Get a grip. Say something. This is getting weird.   
  
“Uhhh. Mmm. You, uh,” he starts. Bad. Do better. “You, uhh, you win,” he gets out breathlessly.   
  
Esteban smiles innocently. “I do? Thank you.” He looks around, noticing the laptop still open to F1. “Well, I think I’ve had enough of this,” he remarks casually, shutting the laptop and putting it on the floor.   
  
The sudden darkness catches him off guard. Lance gropes around for the light switch, but his lamp doesn’t turn on. Duh. Power outage. He waits for his eyes to adjust.   
  
They don’t get the chance. A pair of hands is suddenly on your shoulders, pushing you gently down on the bed. Esteban releases his shoulders, but then takes his arms and pins them down above his head with one hand. The other hand travels down to the hem of his shirt, pushing it up ever so slightly. His cold fingers brush against his belly and he shudders at the sensation. Lance hears a low chuckle, and it’s coming from right below his ear, his breath tickling his neck. When did his face get so close to his?  
  
His brain has slowed as if it’s moving through Jell-O, but he's starting to process what’s happening. He's about to open his mouth to say something, he's not sure what, probably gibberish, when something soft and cool presses against Lance's lips.   
  
Oh, says his brain, as it comes to a very slow realization. Oh. That’s his mouth. Those are his lips. They’re - they’re on his lips.   
  
And now they’re moving, and his are too. Is this making out? It’s making out. He's making out. F*CK. It’s even better than in the movies.   
  
Lance still can’t see a thing, so his other senses are heightened. As if your skin wasn’t already sensitive enough - everywhere he touches him, your nerves go crazy and a jolt of energy races through him.   
  
His fingers have been moving lightly up his belly, which he is very, very aware of even in the haze clouding his mind. They brush against his ribs, and then stop. They move away and tug his shirt back down. He secretly wants him to keep going, but he's glad he didn’t. Or he's not. It’s confusing. He's surprised he doesn’t try to go any further. Somehow the cool, confident exterior and uncaring attitude had you thinking he’d be the type to be pushy in bed. But it looks like he’s content with just making out.   
  
After an unclear amount of time that is both wonderfully long and way too short, he gives him a last kiss and pulls away. He settles down beside him, an arm slung over his side protectively. Or possessively. He's not sure. Either way, he’s on his side, and Lance is naturally a side sleeper, and he can feel Esteban's chest on Lance's back, rising and falling in sync with his. This must be what they call spooning. Also way better in real life.   
  
Lance falls asleep to the sound of his breathing and the feeling of his arms, finally warming up, wrapped around him.  


**Author's Note:**

> I hope you like it. :)


End file.
